


Got Those Vampiric Blues

by stew (julie)



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1992-01-01
Updated: 1992-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/stew
Summary: Nothing makes sense. Doyle has reassigned himself and Bodie to night duty for no good reason; Murphy was assaulted in CI5 HQ, but doesn’t seem at all bothered about it; Bodie ends up sleeping deeply while held fast in Doyle’s arms each day… It’s not that anything’s very wrong – but nothing’s quite right either!
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Kudos: 5





	Got Those Vampiric Blues

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** This isn’t the edited, published version, alas! As it seems I no longer have the zine. {sad face} 
> 
> **First published:** in the zine “Brit Shriek!” from Whatever You Do, Don’t Press in January 1992.

# Got Those Vampiric Blues 

♦

“What the hell do you mean, you put us down for night duty?” I’d thought Doyle had been joking at first, but when his continued silence had got his message across, I flew off the handle. “There are few enough privileges in this god-forsaken job, and one of them is usually working reasonably normal hours. But now we’re on the night shift _and_ , I suppose, on call at all hours. What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing to me?” 

He just lay there on his bed, lethargic, one arm thrown across his eyes. I’d had to let myself into his flat, having pounded on his door for ten minutes with no answer and still (rightly) convinced that he was home. 

“Knock it off, Bodie.” 

“Knock it off? Ray, come on. You owe me an explanation at least! And don’t expect me to be happy about it even then.” I paced up and down for a bit, not getting a reply. “Dammit, you should have talked to me about it first! What is this – a partnership or a dictatorship?” Then I tried a pleading tone. “This is the sort of stunt I expect from Cowley, not you.” 

“I can’t work during the day anymore.” 

“Why the devil not? And you know as well as I do that the Cow will call us in during the day as often as needed. And that’s bloody often, Doyle.” 

“We’ll cope.” 

“ _We’ll_ cope? You know what this is going to do to my love life?” 

“You’ve never let anything get in the way of your love life before,” he said slowly. “You’ll find a way. Or two or three hundred ways.” 

This was true, but it didn’t mollify me. I was _used_ to sleeping at night, thank you very much. It would be late at night and waking late in the morning, by choice. Changing habits at my age was going to be more than my partner’s peace of mind was worth. 

But then I watched Doyle for a while, and started to wonder at a few things. Like, why the curtains were drawn tight against the early Sunday afternoon light. And why he wore dark sunglasses while lying on the bed. And why he looked so pale and gaunt and unhealthy. He’d been acting odd lately, and I hadn’t paid it much attention until now. 

“You hungover?” I asked suspiciously. “You been out on the tiles without me?” 

“No.” 

“Sick? The flu? Migraine?” 

“No.” 

“Well, what’s all this about? Hell of a bad case of the blues? Lord, you’ve even lost weight.” It was true – unbelievably, his once skin-tight jeans now looked baggy on him. “You look like death warmed over.” 

“I’ll be better tonight. I feel good at night.” 

“Yeah?” I sighed, and sat down beside him on the bed. “So when do we start duty?” 

“Eight tonight. Sunday through Thursday.” 

“Ah! Now you’re talking – we’ve got Friday and Saturday nights free?” 

“Just for you, stud.” 

“Ah, sunshine, you’ve made a tired old operative very happy.” I sat there thinking it through. It wouldn’t be too bad, especially with the weekends still free. Overnight, we’d be the first point of contact for emergencies (which never did keep to regular office hours), get to follow up the scum who came out after dark, be the first to hear news from the daytime States, take over whatever the operatives on day duty had been doing and hand it back to them the following morning. There’d even be some penalties in the pay packet, and every little bit helps. About the only downside was that we’d have Cowley almost completely to ourselves. _Joy-oh-bliss_. 

“Shove over,” I said to Doyle. “If we’re working tonight, I need a kip, too. And if you don’t like the company, you should have thought of that when you didn’t buy a spare bed.” He grumbled a little at being moved, but sank back into sleep easily enough. I soon followed him. 

♦

The next time I opened my eyes, the sun was down and Doyle was curled up tight around me. I’d woken to feel his face rubbing against the back of my head, and now his mouth seemed to be targeting my earlobe. 

“Sod off, sunshine,” I said, loud and cold enough to really startle him. 

After a moment, he pulled away from me. “Must have been dreaming,” he said shortly. 

I rolled onto my back as he clambered off the bed. A transformation had taken place – he was still pale and gaunt, but all the old energy was back and then some. He shook his head, and the last of the sleepy daze left him. 

“Coffee?” he offered, and bounced out of the room without waiting for my answer. 

I lay there on Doyle’s bed for long moments, thinking hard about icy-cold showers. The exercise was in vain. Even thinking about CI5’s current battle-axe of a nursing sister didn’t do the trick. Enough said, sunshine. 

♦

That night, Doyle and I signed on and headed to the rest room for a second dose of caffeine. When we got there, we found Murphy sprawled across the sofa. 

“How are you today, Murph?” I slapped him heartily on the shoulder. “You’re not rostered on, are you?” 

“No,” he said. He gave us a sheepish smile. “Still wondering what happened.” 

“Memory coming back?” 

Murph shook his head. “Except that, whatever happened, it was very… sexual.” 

“No kidding.” When I’d found him wandering the ground floor corridors in a happy daze the previous Friday afternoon, my first thought had been, _Murph, you lucky devil, that must have been a beauty_. I’d automatically checked for suspicious damp patches on his trousers – maybe he’d been wanking himself silly in the lav and had fallen and hit his head on the toilet bowl. Or there’s always that inconvenient little shelf in the cubicles: passionately throw your head back at the wrong moment and… Scrub that thought. Except that Murph had no concussion or bruises, and recalled that _someone_ else had been involved. So much for my imaginative theories, you may say, but no one could come up with anything more sensible. Murph didn’t even seem to really care; all he knew was that he’d enjoyed it. The rest of us, we were worried. 

Doyle now asked, “You still don’t know who or what?” 

“No, I can’t think what… He was –” Murph pulled up short, paling. His eyes flashed from Doyle to me, and he sat up. “Oh, lordy, lordy, lordy,” he half-sang, covering a whole octave. “You don’t have to tell Cowley I said that.” 

“I think we do, actually…” I managed to say very seriously, trying to resist the unsympathetic grin that threatened me. “Sounds like an important clue to me. At least we can stop suspecting most of the typing pool. Seems the birds aren’t the only ones lusting after your bod.” 

“God help me,” Murph intoned, alarmed at last, but not necessarily for the right reasons. 

I threw a glance at Doyle, but he was just looking bemused. There seemed to be a lot of that going around CI5 lately. “Never knew you were the type, Murph,” I couldn’t help myself commenting. 

“I’m not!” he spluttered. “There’s some insane pervert around here and he obviously likes his victims innocent!” 

“Well, don’t look at me!” I laughed. “I’m not insane.” 

Murph just glowered at me. “It’s someone in CI5. Cowley’s had Betty checking the security records ever since, and there were no visitors or suspects or anyone else around at the time. No one but agents and employees.” 

“And we’d all assumed – hoped – it was some criminal scum.” Wonderful. It was one of us. Real good for morale, this was, especially for those of us hanging around a near-empty building all night. Proud of my strength and wits I may be, but I had no illusions. If this guy had got to Murph, then he stood a chance with me as well. 

Doyle and I wandered on up the corridor to Cowley’s office, Doyle still acting a little dazed. 

“Don’t be too shocked, Ray. Doesn’t seem like it was voluntary on Murph’s part. And, purely statistically, of course, there’s got to be one or two people on the staff who are that way inclined.” 

These days, Doyle rarely even said “yes” in our one-sided conversations. He just went “ _Mmm…_ ”like he hadn’t even been listening. It was really starting to get on my nerves. I suddenly turned on him. 

“Eh, you sure what happened to Murph hasn’t happened to you, too?” 

“No,” he said eventually. “No. I don’t think so.” 

“You don’t _think_ it hasn’t? Or you don’t think it has?” I echoed Murph. “Lordy, lordy, lordy.” 

When we got to Cowley’s office, the Scot seemed thoroughly dispirited. “Murphy hasn’t remembered anything else,” he said as we walked in and sat down. “And there was no one else in the building at the time. One of our own…” 

“But no real harm was done, sir,” I said. “He’s disoriented, but not hurt. In fact, he seems to have enjoyed whatever it was at the time.” 

“Bodie, you might get a kick out of this sort of thing going on, but leave the rest of us to our scruples, will you?” 

I grinned, knowing how the information provided by Murph’s slip of the tongue would be greeted by Cowley. “Murph just told us the only thing he remembers is that it was a man.” 

“Doyle, please tell me this is one of Bodie’s questionable jokes.” 

“No, sir, that’s what Murphy told us,” my partner answered, still sounding vague. 

Cowley frowned a little at Ray. “I don’t like any of this. If it was April Fool’s Day or Halloween, I’d dismiss it all as pranks, but that’s not the answer.” He sighed. “The raid on our medical supplies on Thursday was the start of it.” 

“Have they discovered anything missing yet, sir?” 

“No, nothing stolen. But the room broken into, everything a mess, some of the blood bank supplies torn apart.” 

“Glad _I_ didn’t have to mop it up,” I muttered. 

“If it happens again, Bodie, I’m sure we can accommodate your zest for spring-cleaning.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

Eventually, Cowley gave us our assignment for the evening: surveillance of an empty house. 

“Sounds exciting, sir.” 

“The police have been watching the place very competently, but Whittaker is due back there tonight, and it is imperative that we handle this carefully. The man must be arrested and the luggage he’ll have must be safely taken. He’ll have two bodyguards, if the Foreign Office is not mistaken. It’s important not to let them get him or the luggage away. If there’s shooting, the guards are expendable, but Whittaker must _not_ be harmed. Am I making myself clear?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“The two bobbys on duty will stay with you for the action, but they’re the only back-up you get if things go as planned. Don’t be afraid of using them – I insisted on the best. Whittaker’s due at midnight. Take the computer file and hop to it.” 

Funny thing about Cowley – you could always tell when you’d outstayed your welcome. Doyle and I hopped to it. 

“I’ll get the file,” Doyle offered. “You bring your car around the front and I’ll meet you down there.” 

“OK.” 

Nothing unusual there. But when Doyle finally joined me, he did seem a little odd. The coppers at Whittaker’s house obviously thought so, too. Something about the brightness of his jade eyes, the glow of his pale skin, the suppleness of his body. Maybe I only noticed because I was too used to him being tired these days, but I tell you now, if there’d been any birds around, they would have been entranced. 

Despite one harrowing moment, we captured Whittaker, his luggage _and_ the bodyguards all intact. The downside of the night was returning to HQ to find Betty in the same state as Murph had been last Friday. Her smile was bewildered, but beautiful. The Cow was the closest to breaking I’d ever seen him. 

♦

I took Doyle, with surprisingly few protests, back to my place for a hearty breakfast, which he barely touched. 

“Come on, don’t play the prima donna, Ray. You need some sustenance. You’re wasting away.” 

“Not hungry,” was the brief reply. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, he wandered through the dawn light into my bedroom, drew the curtains and blind, and fell onto my bed. 

After wolfing down my share of the bacon and eggs, and then half of his as well rather than waste it, I joined him there. I pulled off his shoes and belt, undressed myself, and snuggled us both up closely under the quilt. 

Well, the air was cold that dawn and Ray was warm. I have a practical nature. 

♦

_Cowley, sitting in his office, took off his glasses to rub at his eyes and the bridge of his nose, and then had to remember to put them back on again to look at his watch._ Three in the morning. Wednesday morning, it must be. _His doctor would kill him if she saw him there, still working, glass of whisky in hand. But Cowley, despite all the medical advice and his own grudging admission of the fact that she was right, could never let go. There was always too much to do, too much to worry over. And long ago, he had pledged his life to the fight. For someone like Doyle or Bodie, they would think of that pledge in terms of death in action. Cowley knew he was more likely to die from the stress of overwork. Less dramatic, and on the face of it, less useful, but it was all the same sacrifice in the end._

_At least now that the pair were working night duty, he didn’t have to stay so alert. He could trust them to deal with anything that came up, and he could then use the peace and quiet to worry through a case, consider all the angles, plan for every contingency._

_But he found it hard to concentrate on case details when there were so many unsolved mysteries haunting their own corridors. They were all too used to thinking of HQ as sanctuary. That was why they were so rattled. And it was one of their own running amok…_

_Cowley looked up as his office door quietly opened and closed. One of his own, the bewitching one, padded silently towards him._

_“Time to let go for a while, sir,” were the man’s soothing words._

_For once powerless to even consider arguing, the Scot let himself be drawn up into a strong embrace, let his head fall back, let the warm mouth settle on his throat. And, with a satisfied moan, he welcomed pure oblivion._

♦

“Sleeping like a babe!” I whispered. We’d gone to check in with Cowley before signing off, only to find him stretched out on his couch, deeply asleep, looking thoroughly relaxed and happy. Touching, that was. I found my boss to be almost unrecognisable with that expression on his face. 

“Come on, don’t disturb him, Bodie,” Doyle said, plucking at my sleeve to draw me out of the office. “Betty won’t be in for two hours, let him sleep till then. Do him good.” 

Yeah, I couldn’t say that this was unwelcome. It was just that I feared when he woke, Cowley’s contentment would vanish and he’d feel as disoriented and confused as Murph and Betty had. Which the Cow _wouldn’t_ enjoy, surely. 

I tore myself away from Cowley’s side and looked at my partner. His eyes again held that brilliance and his mouth kept twitching into a very satisfied smile that seemed to match Cowley’s. Doyle could be very… compelling these days. I somehow managed to turn away from his direct gaze. 

“Come on, I need my beauty sleep, too,” I said gruffly. 

We signed off and I drove Doyle back to his flat. The eastern sky was glowing pink behind his ruffled curls as I pulled up the car to let my partner out.

“Stay over,” he said. He looked tired again, but there was something in him lately that you couldn’t easily refuse. 

“Silly habit to be getting into,” I muttered, even as I parked the car and clambered out of it. 

A line of burning gold showed on the horizon. Climbing the stairs, Ray seemed strangely weary. When he staggered, I put an arm around his waist and helped him up the last flight. Again, he wouldn’t eat more than a mouthful or two of the breakfast I prepared before falling headlong and fully clothed across his bed. 

I stood over him, watching him for a while. “Well, sunshine, you were the one who wanted to work nights.” But he’d been right – Ray lost his lethargy once the sun went down. I undressed and lay beside him, letting him cuddle up to me. This would be the fourth day that we’d slept together, the fourth evening of me waking in my partner’s arms, absolutely aroused. It would probably have bothered me more if there had been the slightest hint that Ray felt the same way. _Never mind,_ I told myself, _today’s Wednesday. On Friday, the irresistible Bodie can go out and rage all night, and take his lust out on some unsuspecting lucky bird._ In the meantime, it was a matter of being careful not to hit my head on that shelf in the lav at HQ. 

My eyelids drooped shut. Funny how quickly I’d adapted to sleeping the day away. It almost seemed like I’d catch Doyle’s heavy sleep from him, that he infected me with the answer to exhaustion. I settled back with a sigh, put one arm around Ray’s skinny but comfortable waist, and slept like the dead. 

♦

Doyle and I spent Wednesday night poring over the blueprints to a warehouse in the East End where we now knew one of Whittaker’s associates ran a parody of our own headquarters. The organisation of these people sometimes seemed incredible to me – how did they think they could get away with it? If I was on the other side, I’d stay flexible, elusive: no systems, no networks, no traceable associates. I’d stay free. 

“You sound like you’d be the Scarlet Pimpernel, except you wouldn’t trust anyone,” Doyle summed me up. “But what’s new?” he added glumly. “You rarely trust people now.” 

“I trust you,” I told him. “You know that, well enough.” 

“If so, Bodie,” he turned back to the plans, “then believe me when I say that if you were to break in _here_ ,” pointing to one place, then another, “I’ll be _there_ to back you up.” 

“There’s no way you could cover that distance in time, plus if they’re worth anything, they’ll have a guard at this point. I’d be cannon fodder.” 

“I’d never put you into that much danger, Bodie. I’m not going to lose you yet. Trust me – I _will_ be there to cover you.” He looked up. “It’s the best way of doing this.” 

I considered him for a long moment. “It’s the only way of doing this,” I finally agreed. “Clean and quick.” A few things started to fall into place. “And superhuman. You _know_ you can do it… but it’s not natural, Ray.” 

He returned my gaze, enigmatic. “I know I can save your hide,” he said simply. “That’s what matters – that and doing this right.” 

“You’re faster and stronger than you’ve any right to be.” It felt weird to say that, to put it into words, but the truth was slowly dawning on me. That harrowing moment at Whittaker’s: Ray running _into_ a guard’s fire, literally dodging bullets, to reach him. Then Ray had held him with no effort, despite the guard being about twice his weight. I’d been too stunned, and too glad that he was still alive at the end of it, to really comprehend what had happened. Sort of like my family telling me I’d witnessed an assassination-style shooting when I was five: I couldn’t for the life of me remember it, had obviously totally blanked it from my mind to cope with the incident, but they’d always liked to think it explained so much of what went wrong with me. 

“What happened at Whittaker’s, these plans for our raid… Even those mysterious dents in my filing cabinet that appeared on Friday. The way I can’t get free from you unless you wake up and let me go.” 

“It doesn’t matter. Just accept it, Bodie. Use it.” 

I shook my head slowly, trying to make sense of it all. But Ray wanted me to accept it and what my partner said was gospel lately. “All right,” I said, feeling a little fuzzy around the edges. “All right.” 

He smiled at me and things were suddenly more all right than they’d ever been. 

♦

Cowley had woken late that morning, feeling too refreshed and energetic to worry overly about what had happened to him. I thought it was a little weird that the victims always seemed less worried about these incidents than everyone else did. The Cow had put the whole problem on the back burner now, only reminding me of my ‘no real harm done’ assessment. 

“We’ve got other things to worry about, Bodie. Like this raid. This is one of the most important operations we’ve ever had. Let’s concentrate on that.” 

Luckily, he trusted me and Doyle to do whatever we said we would do, so he didn’t question Doyle’s proposed entry. Once the two of us were in, and the out-posted guards were eliminated, then we could let the others in through two of the delivery doors. It all seemed deceptively simple on paper, but I suppose that if you have a superhuman partner, it follows that some things become simplified. 

The raid was planned for early Thursday night, when we knew some of the heavies in the organisation were meeting at the warehouse. I didn’t like to think of that lucky chance; if it had been scheduled for during the day, Doyle would have been less capable than he’d ever been, rather than more capable. During daylight hours, Doyle was sluggish at best. He could work OK if he had to, but no more than that, and it was getting steadily worse. It was a danger to worry over and maybe to talk to Cowley about. Except that I couldn’t see the Cow being too happy about me asking for Doyle not to be on call during the day. Being on call twenty-four hours around the clock went with the territory in CI5. 

Anyhow, the raid went as planned, complete with Doyle’s superhuman speed, strength and reactions. My partner sure made it difficult for me to write up a believable report, but that was the only downside. Victorious, Cowley looked like he’d just been knighted and he wasn’t in the mood for reading between the lines. 

“You’ve done a magnificent job, lads,” was his only comment. I took the opportunity to agree with him, and he didn’t even mind that. We spent the rest of the night questioning our captives and poring over some very interesting information out of their confiscated files. 

That Cowley: he deserved to be knighted, the old bastard. 

♦

_Cowley looked up, startled to find that he wasn’t alone. He sat back in his chair and took off his glasses. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you,” he said._

_There was no reply as the man slowly walked over to Cowley’s desk._

_“Bodie was in here a while ago. He wanted to see me about you.”_

_“Yes, sir,” came the soothing murmur._

_“He asked that you not be on call anymore, except at night. He said that you wouldn’t be any use to me during the day, anyway.” Cowley waited for some reaction, but there was none. “I allowed it. Bodie will work with Murphy if I need him.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“You don’t even know what’s happening, do you? You know even less than we do.” Cowley stood, turned away to the window to contemplate the darkness of London, both familiar and eldritch. When he looked around, he found the man standing close by him._

_“Again?” Cowley asked._

_“Yes. Time to sleep again, sir.”_

♦

I awoke Saturday afternoon feeling very pleased with myself. _Bodie, you lucky devil, she must have been a beauty._ I had definitely been in the mood for celebration on Friday, so I’d talked an initially reluctant Doyle into coming out with me. He’d soon joined in the spirit of the night, though, dancing and flirting around like there was no tomorrow. Neither of us had needed much to drink: I, for one, was still in a euphoria over the raid. To make things really perfect, there were plenty of birds on offer, although for once Doyle was the one to first attract their attention. Who cared? There were more than enough to go round. I lay there in bed, eyes still closed, wondering idly which one I’d ended up with. Despite the fact that I hadn’t been drunk, my memory seemed terribly incomplete. Whoever it had been, all I could conclude was that they’d been very satisfying. 

When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself in Doyle’s bedroom, with Doyle wrapped up around me just as close as he’d been every other evening this week. 

_Lordy, lordy, lordy._ I couldn’t even remember what had happened; only that it had been the most sexual, the most sensual experience I’d ever had. My mind simply didn’t want to consider the implications. Doyle and me… Stranger things had occurred, no doubt, but not to this operative. 

And then I realised… Not just to me, at all. It had been my entrancing partner all along, seducing half of CI5. And only Friday morning, he had come down from Cowley’s office, saying that the Scot would sleep well again, and I’d thought he meant because the raid had been such a success. The little minx. I found myself jealous. Why had he left me out until now? Not that he had, really, because he’d been sleeping with me every day, holding me close, turning me on something atrocious. The little alley cat. 

Why couldn’t I remember what he’d _done_ to me?! 

And why didn’t he do it again? I swallowed hard. This was too weird and too compelling to easily accept. I’d never wanted another man before. But the oddest thing was that it didn’t seem likely that we’d actually had sex. We were both still dressed in our Friday night finery, for a start. And that was similar to his encounters with everyone else. So what had happened? 

I woke Doyle enough for him to let me out of his arms and his bed. There was no point in trying to get anything more out of him until sunset – but then, sure as eggs are eggs, he’d want to have some damn good answers for me. I spent the late afternoon thinking of some of my favourite interrogation techniques… Which, of course, I wasn’t going to use. At least, only as a last, desperate resort. 

I sat by him on the bed as the sun set, as he came alive again. He was beautiful, fey, unearthly. When he woke, he reached out his arms for me. 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I said, needing all of my considerably stubborn won’t-power not to melt into his embrace. “We do some talking first.” 

Doyle smiled up at me. “Do we have to?” he asked disarmingly. “What do you want to talk about?” 

“You know very well, so don’t go batting those eyelashes at me, sunshine. You’ve fooled me for two weeks or more, but this is the end of it.” 

“Fooled you about what? That I love you? I never really tried to hide it, you know. You’re just thick or something.” 

“Don’t change the subject, and _don’t_ play games with me, Ray,” I said, at my very severest. “I’ve had enough of the mystery. I want the solution now.” 

“Don’t yell at me, Bodie,” he said. We just stared each other in the eye for a long time, while I began to realise that he was genuinely perplexed. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he asked. 

“You really don’t know?” 

He shook his head at me, and I sighed. “Unless it’s about us,” he added. I shook my head. “Tell me,” he said. I watched as Doyle grabbed one of my hands in his and pressed it to his lips. Mesmerising. 

_Sod it,_ I thought, surprisingly ready to hop back into bed with him at the slightest provocation. _Who needs an explanation?_

“Tell me,” Doyle repeated, sitting up against the pillows and not letting my hand go. 

“It’s you, Ray,” I finally started. “There’s been some crazy things happening at HQ lately, and it’s all linked to you.” 

“Like what?” 

“This Superman act of yours, we talked about it when we were planning the raid, remember?” 

After a moment, he said, “Yes.” 

“It’s unnatural, Ray, you’ve got to admit it. I don’t want to just accept it – I want to know _why_. And why you sleep all day, too. Why you’re useless when the sun’s up.” He was silent, so I continued. “There was a raid on the medical supplies last Thursday week – the blood bank cabinets in particular.” 

“I was hungry,” he said faintly, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe his own words. 

That almost stopped me, but I ploughed on, determined to get it all said. “There was Murph on Friday, and Betty on Monday morning, and then Cowley on Wednesday morning – all reeling from some sexual encounter. And me feeling the same way this afternoon. Ray, what have you been doing to us all?” 

He returned my gaze, intent and on edge. 

“Ray, what are you?” I whispered. 

He swallowed, looked away from me. 

“Do you remember now? Do you know what I’m talking about?” 

“Yes. I was hungry,” he said again. “I tried to make do with the blood supplies…” 

“What?” Despite my previous insistence, I suddenly wanted very badly to _not_ know. I could tell already that this was going to be too fantastical. 

“It wasn’t what I needed. I tried to stop myself Friday – that’s when I laid into your filing cabinet, ’cause I was so frustrated – but then Murphy wandered by and I gave in to it.” 

“Lordy…” was all I managed. 

“And then, every few days, it happened again. And once I’d started, I began to change. I’d been fighting it until then.” 

We were silent for a long while. “What made you this way?” I finally asked, fiercely. “What did this to you?” 

“I… I don’t know.” 

“When? Two weeks ago, it must have been.” 

“The Saturday night…” He faltered. “There was a man – tall and blond. I thought he just wanted…” 

“What did he do to you?” 

Ray turned his head to face me again. “It’s obvious now, isn’t it?”

I eyed him, feeling completely mad. I wasn’t going to say the word. I wasn’t going to make it true. 

“I’ve been as confused as the rest of you. It was all instinct, I didn’t know what I was doing, what I was.” 

“No.” 

“I’m a vampire, Bodie.” 

“No.” This had to be the most ludicrous conversation I’d ever been a part of. “There’s another answer, there has to be.” 

“No,” he said gently. “Come here.” 

I obeyed, just the same as I’d been obeying him for two weeks now, shifting closer to him on the bed. He lifted his hands to me, to cup my face, stroke my neck, run across my hair. Then his fingers nimbly undid each of my shirt buttons while his gaze still held mine. He’d been compelling enough over the past week while unaware of his attractions – now, with his new-found knowledge and confidence, there was no comparison. 

“You always told me you were irresistible, Bodie.” 

“Nothing next to you,” I stuttered. My shirt loose, he pushed it back down my arms and I shrugged it off. He ran his hands over my chest. 

“You’ll remember it this time,” Doyle promised me, voice a soft caress. “You want that, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” I said. 

He smiled, drew me into his arms, bent his head to fasten his mouth to my throat. A surge of pain as I closed my eyes, and then nothing but my heartbeat melding with his, my arms snaking around his waist to ensure he’d never let me go, the erotic pulse of my blood mingling with his. 

Too soon, he pulled away and I groaned my protest, twisting to stay close against him. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bodie,” he whispered, amused. “And I don’t need any more.” 

“When?” I asked. 

“Tomorrow night.” 

“ _Every_ night.” 

“You could prove to be highly addictive, Bodie.” 

“Good. It’s mutual.” The intense feelings having ebbed away to a more common lust, I tumbled Doyle over onto his back, aware as I did that I couldn’t have done so if he hadn’t wanted to be tumbled. “There’s something of yours that I want to drink, lover,” I said wickedly. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?” he asked. But then he laughed. “Of course, you weren’t meant to be quite that crude about it.” He shut up when I bent to kiss his intoxicating mouth. And I was happily and hopelessly hooked. 

♦

_Cowley looked up as his midnight visitor let himself into the office. “You again? Are you_ _so hungry?” The Scot sounded more disbelieving than disapproving. “You like blood that tastes of whisky, perhaps?”_

_“It’s a change to Bodie’s.” Doyle advanced on him, intent, a panther stalking its willing prey._

_“If you know now, just tell me why,” Cowley asked before the man quite reached him._

_“It’s something I can do for you, sir. It lets you rest, makes you let go of the worry._ _”_

_“Aye, it does that.” The Scot smiled a little. “And doesn’t he get jealous, your lover?”_

_Doyle returned his smile, bewitching Cowley all over again. “He pretends he doesn’t know. He cares too much for you to protest.”_

_Cowley nodded, stood from his chair. The strong arms came around him then, and he welcomed the embrace. One of his own… Cowley let himself submerge into the warm, pulsing darkness._

♦


End file.
